


The Wishmaster

by amidtheflowers



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Romance, fun dimensional alterations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-10-27 18:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17771801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: A simple wish from a disgruntled kid wouldn't change much anywhere else, but in Sunnydale? History is rewritten.Written for the Elysian Field's 12 Years 12 Seasons Anniversary challenge.





	1. Observation

**Author's Note:**

> Buffy and its respective characters belong solely to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy, along with everyone involved in creating this series. None of this belongs to me; I just like playing in their sandbox.  
> So, here I am again. I'm doing two Anniversary challenges. Am I crazy? Yep. Will I do this anyway? You bet!
> 
> The beautiful banner was made by DauntlessGrace! Also, fair warning, this fic will most likely get an upgrade in rating as the chapters go on, so tags will be added and adjusted accordingly. :)
> 
> This first chapter sets up the scene for all the adventures coming next. It's a little different, but I promise you it's going to be great. I hope you enjoy! xxx All mistakes are my own.
> 
>   
> 

**The Wishmaster**

**-:-**

**Chapter 1:**  Observation

**-:-**

_A Thought_

Dylan Matthews’ first suspicion that Sunnydale, California was not a normal hometown happened during the summer of 1999.

That August his parents let him stay with his aunt in Seattle. It was nighttime and he peered out the window during their drive from the airport to her condo, watching curiously as folks walked about the streets. Not a single person seemed the least bit concerned. He turned to Aunt Harriet and asked, “Isn’t there a curfew? How come no one’s afraid?”

Aunt Harriet gave him a funny look. “Afraid of what?”

Dylan frowned deeply, thinking. He drew a blank.

She also didn’t force him to wear four different cross pendants at all times. She’d caught him one morning putting them all on, two necklaces and a bracelet on each wrist, and said, “Wowza, that’s a lot of holy wear.”

“You have to when you leave the house,” Dylan explained, as if it were obvious.

“Why only then?” she asked, amused.

“So the boogeyman won’t get you.”

“You got a lot experience with that, then?”

“No but Mom saw him last month and she still has the scar.”

Aunt Harriet went very still after that, and later that night he heard muffled shouting coming from her bedroom while she was on the phone.

The best part was that he could stay out late on Aunt Harriet’s balcony, not worrying about things that could potentially get him in the night. Not that he’d ever been  _gotten_. His parents sure were worried about the possibility, though, another thing he couldn’t quite explain.

The most obvious difference though was that Aunt Harriet’s neighbors were  _normal._ Normal folks who went to work and drove a sedan and  _didn’t_ have double eyelids that blinked curiously at him like his next door neighbor Mr. Rourke’s did. And that wasn’t even the weirdest part! For Mr. Rourke’s dog—and Dylan called it a dog loosely because he didn’t have another name for this thing—once looked Dylan straight in the eye as it unhinged its jaw and swallowed his soccer ball whole.

Just. One giant gulp.

Mr. Rourke had looked at Dylan apologetically with a ‘what can ya do’ shrug, and said, “Probably best you don’t kick any more balls in my yard, kiddo. You might be next!”

He had laughed and Dylan joined in, glancing nervously at the dog monster that was now retreating towards the house. Then just as abruptly Mr. Rourke stopped laughing, staring eerily at him until Dylan ran back into his house. He didn’t set foot in the yard since then.

Now that Dylan was back in Sunnydale, summer long forgotten and fourth grade well underway, he was annoyed. The people here  _were_  different, not just his paranoid parents or his probably-an-alien neighbor. He missed Aunt Harriet and her neighbors who gave him a plate of ice cream cake on his last night in Seattle. He missed going to the theater and not seeing a flash of something following them, or hearing growls at night outside his window.

He’d learned so much in those three weeks, and all of them pointed to one fact: something was wrong with Sunnydale.

Like now, for instance.

“Can you maybe not stare at my mailbox and go…away?” Dylan said again, and loudly. The blonde girl, the redhead, and the dude holding a bat didn’t so much as blink.

“Hey there little guy, why don’t you just go inside and stay with your parents for a bit?” the blonde girl said to him in a sugary sweet voice. “We just have to, um, make sure your mailbox is working.”

Said mailbox gave a loud, unhappy groan. The redhead startled and nudged the guy next to her with roughly. “Xander, it’s waking up. Get ready!”

“Do you have the potion?” the blonde asked, her tone suddenly serious.

Redhead nodded, holding up a small bottle. “Got it. You throw the first punch, I’ll start the incantation while you and Xander keep it from getting away. Then, boom! Explody demon creature….thing.”

The mailbox gave an angry, shaking growl.

“You’re not allowed to set our mailbox on fire,” Dylan said angrily. “Mom!”

“Believe me, kid, you don’t want to get the mail from  _this_  mailbox,” the dude with the bat told him with a wry smile. “Unless you want a decapitated hand.”

“You can’t decapitate a hand,” Blonde Girl rolled her eyes.

“Yeah but you get the visual—”

“Guys, it’s starting!” Redhead shrieked.

She began muttering rapidly under her breath while Blonde Girl and Bat Dude starting violently beating Dylan’s mailbox. Dylan backed away slowly when the mailbox shook heavily, even throwing Bat Dude three feet away with a sudden lurch. A horrible screaming noise filled the air by that point, the mailbox flap waving maniacally.

He didn’t understand. The mailbox was just fine yesterday. Now it was what—possessed? How did these three teenagers even figure this out?

In the end it was anticlimactic. Redhead sprinkled some of her potion and the mailbox exploded. Something pink and slimy landed on Dylan’s cheek. The weirdo trio got the worst of it, covered head to toe.

They stared at the smoking orifice where his mailbox once was, and Dylan glared at all three them as he wiped his face. “I’m setting my neighbor’s dog on you.”

They didn’t stick around after that.

**-:-**

_Thought Reinforcement_

“Can’t I stay up a little later? I’m ten years old now, I’m not a kid anymore,” Dylan complained as his mom and dad shrugged on their coats near the front door.

His mother smiled indulgently. “You know the rules, Dylan. Bed by eight-thirty, no exceptions. If you need anything, Sherri will be here to help you.”

Sherri, the girl babysitting him who was also their neighbor Mr. Rourke’s daughter, sent him a beaming smile.

“We’ll be fine. Have fun at the movies!” Sherri told his parents as she sidled next to Dylan, draping an arm around his shoulders. Once the front door closed, Sherri flashed him a friendly smile. “Want me to make some popcorn? I think we can swing in an episode of  _M*A*S*H_.”

“Doesn’t that air at nine?”

She winked down at him, and Dylan grinned. So what if her dad might be an alien with double-blinking eyelids? Sherri was the raddest babysitter he’d ever had.

The doorbell rang and Dylan jumped to open it while Sherri made the food. He leaned against the doorjamb as he looked up, up, up at a man with blood on his lips and a snarling smile.

“Hello little boy.” His grin widened, revealing a set of jagged teeth. “My uh…my buddies and I just got a flat tire.” Dylan peered behind him and saw three snickering guys leaning against a car, all with disfigured faces and sharp teeth. “Do you mind if use your phone?”

“Let me guess. You need to be invited in.”

His smile turned wicked. “It would be much appre—” Dylan rolled his eyes and slammed the door in the guy’s face.

“This town is so  _weird_ ,” Dylan shook his head as he walked to the kitchen. He could hear the popcorn popping in the microwave. “Don’t you think, Sherri?”

Dylan froze, watching as Sherri plopped a whole egg from an egg carton straight into her mouth. He let out a stunned squawk and Sherri startled. Their eyes connected. Wincing, she swallowed—shell and all—and smiled sheepishly.

“Um, you might be wondering what that was about.”

Dylan shook his head, turning away. “Not really. I’m going to bed.”

**-:-**

_Hyper-focusing_

Dylan was seeing them everywhere now.

The cashier at the supermarket had green scaly arms when the fluorescent light hit her skin just right. The growling at night wasn’t just scary growling but constant, punctuated sounds, as if—as if it were a conversation? And his own teacher, Mrs. Lewis, had a bubbling cauldron stashed inside the biggest drawer in her desk. He caught her several times as she fed bits of powder and gunk into it, muttering lowly under her breath while the rest of the class worked on their worksheets.

Dylan suspected he should be frightened. The monsters that went bump in the night were real, just like his parents always seemed to hint at. They obviously knew the truth of this city; not only that, but they knew how to live in it.

Dylan might have been frightened if he found out all at once, but as it was he wasn’t scared at all—he was tired. And cranky.

And he wanted to play with his freaking soccer ball in the yard.

Dylan held the ball aloft as he peered into the Rourkes yard. The dog monster wasn’t outside—probably in the house then. Smiling triumphantly, Dylan dropped the soccer ball on the grass and began to play.

“Finally,” Dylan grinned as he started doing some tricks. Bouncing the ball on his knees, switching between his feet. He tried rolling the ball  so that it landed on the top of his foot, then jerked it high in the air—higher—until it fell straight over the fence.

He didn’t even make a single step forward before a black blur shot across the neighboring yard. “No!” Dylan cried as the Rourke’s dog monster gleefully unhinged its jaw and swallowed his soccer ball. Again. “No! That was brand new! UGH!”

Dylan kicked the grass angrily. “I hate this place. I wish this stupid town could just be normal for one day,” Dylan muttered as he turned back toward his house, resigned to begging his mom for yet another soccer ball that would inevitably disappear.

He didn’t notice the veiny-faced woman across the street watching him with something like amused compassion. And he certainly didn’t hear her triumphant “Done!” as she touched the strange pendant around her neck.


	2. Questioning

**Chapter 2:**  Questioning

-:-

“What’s the matter, Slayer? These gits a bit beyond your reach?”

Spike sat atop a weathered crypt with one leg dangling off the edge and the other bent at the knee, his arm hanging loosely over it. He was watching her fight with three vamps with not a small amount of amusement, though  _why_ he suddenly found it a great idea to haunt her patrols was beyond her.

Buffy ignored the taunt in his voice just as she dusted one of the actually, ridiculously tall vamps. She looked up at Spike and held up her stake with an unspoken threat. “I don’t know, Spike. Care to find out?”

“Hey!” one of the vamps cried, staring at the pile of dust that gathered on the grass. “That was my brother!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Buffy replied with a little shrug, “you’ll be joining him soon.”

“Like hell—get her, Tim!”

“On it, Carl!”

Buffy flashed a smile that held a fractional undercurrent of frustration. Every kick she threw and every hit she landed was edged with a restless violence that thrummed beneath her skin. Her muscles ached for something she couldn’t identify—she’d hoped that another round of patrol would calm down her restlessness, but even dusting a few vampires wasn’t cutting it.

“Din’t your mum ever tell you—”

Buffy did a roundhouse kick that threw both snarling vampires to the ground. She whirled around and craned her head to look up at Spike, glaring hard. “ _What_ about my mother, Spike?”

If Spike was taken aback he hid it well; he shrugged and nodded at the two vamps slowly picking themselves off the ground. “Playing with your kill’s bad manners for a Slayer, pet. You’ve been toying with them for fifteen minutes.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Spike’s eyebrows hiked up. “You tellin’ me you’re genuinely struggling to dust two half-wits who can’t make heads or tails of their own arse?”

“Hey, man!” Carl complained, licking his fangs. “No need to be mean.”

Spike stared at Buffy, the unspoken ‘see?’ clear in his expression.

Buffy rolled eyes. The two vampires charged her and Buffy casually knocked them down again. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like, I don’t know, stab someone in the back while working with Adam?”

“Oi, I helped you lot in the end.” Spike straightened where he sat. “Wouldn’t’ve been able to do that spell without my help, right?”

“And now you’re, what—”  _kick_ , “—so lame—”  _punch_ , “that you’re sitting there, watching the Slayer kill your kind?” Buffy landed two more blows before whirling around to Spike again. “I wonder why that is, again? Oh, wait.”

Spike’s mouth hardened into an angry line and Buffy tilted her head, giving him a hard smile. “William the Bloody got neutered.”

Three things happened at once.

First: Spike growled and jumped off the roof of the crypt just as the two very annoyed vampires had a final surge of rage and charged at Buffy.

Second: Buffy twirled the stake in midair, her hand waiting to catch it and kill the two vamps with a move she’d been wanting to try out for days.

Lastly: A sudden wave went through the air that knocked the breath out of the whole of Sunnydale.

The stake fell beyond Buffy’s grasp; Spike groaned in pain as he crumpled to the grass; and the two charging vampires collided into Buffy, knocking her to the ground with them in tow.

Buffy knew the moment it happened because it had happened to her once before. And it was happening again now, and there were two vampires struggling on top of her.

Her eyes widened in terror as her body lay limply beneath them. Their combined weight was unbearable and Buffy struggled to breathe. Her muscles protested weakly as she tried wriggling out just as the two vamps reared back to look at each other.

“What the heck? Carl are we…?”

“Tim? Did we just…?”

“Get  _off_ of me!” Buffy pushed at them fiercely.

Tim and Carl startled and glanced down at her. Their demon faces were gone, leaving two teenaged guys in their wake and looking just as bewildered as Buffy.

“What the bloody hell just happened?”

Buffy tilted her head back to find Spike sitting up and rubbing his sore knees.

“Hey lady, you were trying to kill us,” Carl accused.

“No kidding. You’re vampires,” Buffy grunted as she pushed them away. Hands grabbed her at shoulders and roughly shoved her back against the ground.

“Not so fast, bitch,” Tim hissed. “Tell us what you did to us and then maybe we’ll be nice about this.”

A thrill of fear went down her spine. She was overpowered. Her Slayer strength was gone, and her body was quickly getting sore. Her mind was racing with questions of why and how and whether she had to confront Giles about another damned Slayer test she was unaware of, and  _when_ exactly had Giles managed to stick a needle in her this time when he was in England on holiday—but right now, she had to find a way to survive the next few minutes.

Buffy pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Tell me what  _you_ did and I’ll consider letting you off easy.”

Her head snapped to the side when a large fist cracked against her jaw. Pain shot through her and Buffy choked back a gasp.

“Tim!”

“What? I warned her!”

“Maybe I wanted to be the punishing guy.”

“Well maybe—”

Buffy blinked back the water in her eyes and inched her head further to the side, relief cutting through her mounting panic when she caught sight of black leather against moonlight. She did something she never thought she’d ever be reduced to do.

“…Spike.” His name came out in a soft plea.

In the next moment the weight on her body disappeared. Spike had hold of the two vampires by the scruff of their collars and practically threw them away with a violent shove.

“Fuck off or I kill you,” she heard him growl. In the next moment the sound of feet pounding against grass filled the air as Buffy blinked back the blurriness occluding her sight.

When Buffy’s vision cleared she found Spike looming over her, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What just happened, Slayer?” he asked quietly. He made no move to help her up. Buffy rolled over and pushed herself up, stumbling to her feet. She glanced over to Spike and saw him staring intensely at his hands as he opened and closed them into fists.

“I...”

She shouldn’t tell him. It probably wasn’t safe to tell Spike—he’d likely use it against her. Find a way to hurt her. Find a way to kill her.

There was no scenario where Buffy telling Spike she’d lost her slayer powers would end well. She didn’t trust him, and it could only end badly.

She also needed to get out Restfield alive.

“Spike.”

He glanced up. Buffy searched his eyes, hesitant of what she would find. It made her wish she hadn’t been quite as mean tonight. It made her vaguely ill that she absolutely depended him right now.

“I need you to walk me home.”

Spike stared at her for a long moment. His fingers twitched, his left thumb running idly along the back of a ring. Slowly, Spike nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

Buffy suppressed a sigh of relief. Together they walked out of the cemetery and down the street, with Buffy darting wary glances and Spike remaining abnormally silent. She heard him breathing, taking in several slow, deep breaths and exhaling just as slowly. And the strangest of all: he wouldn’t stop staring at his hands.

When they reached her doorstep, Buffy turned to face Spike. He looked at her strangely, waiting for her to speak. She could tell there was something on his mind, something he’d been meaning to say since they’d left Restfield.

“Spike,” Buffy started hesitantly. “Something very serious happened tonight.” He stared at her. She chickened out. “Could you stay here while I make a phone call?”

“Yeah.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. It was almost like his mind was somewhere else while his body was in front of her. “Spike, are you…” At his odd stare, Buffy shook her head. “I’ll be right back. Just—just wait here.”

Buffy slipped behind the front door and strode to the phone. Giles was out of country which left her Willow and Xander. She dialed Willow’s number first, her finger coiling through the phone cord impatiently as she listened to the dial tone.

“ _Hey it’s Willow, leave a message!_ ”

Buffy swallowed a curse and started frantically, “Willow, it’s me. Something bad happened. Really, really bad. I—” A loud sound from outside made her pause. Through the curtains Buffy saw a flash of light and the sound of a scream. Her mouth set in a line. “Call me when you get this.”

She hung up the receiver and rushed to the door, throwing it open. Spike was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his mouth and slightly trembling hands trying to start his lighter. “What the hell is going on?” Buffy demanded. Another wail ripped through the air, a disembodied sound far in the distance.

“Dunno. Heard a scream.”

Buffy squeezed her hands into fists, frustration building. “Thanks, mister quiet guy. Seriously, you chose right now to not be a pain in the ass?”

“And what  _is_  happening right now, Slayer?” Spike dropped his hand and took out the unlit cigarette from his mouth.

Buffy swallowed thickly and looked away. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut. “Somehow—somehow I’ve lost my slayer powers.  _Don’t_ get any ideas,” Buffy warned, glaring at Spike. “I just…just need some time to figure out what’s going on. And I think…” She bit her lip, glancing behind her. The phone was silent. “I think you should…”

Spike hiked up a scarred brow. “I should what?”

Buffy pushed down her instinctive dislike and focused on Spike. “It might be best if you stayed here. For a bit.”

Spike balked. “What, at your house?”

“Just for a bit,” Buffy said through her teeth. “I can’t—no one can know I’m…”

“Vulnerable?” Spike smirked and looked off into the distance. With a slow shake of his head, he returned his gaze to hers. “Want the Big Bad watching your back then, yeah?”

“Don’t get excited,” Buffy shot back, crossing her arms over herself in an unconscious move of protection.

“Right. Just one flaw in that plan, pet.” Spike pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, invading her space. Darkened eyes bore through hers. “I’ve lost my powers too.”

Buffy blanched.

“ _What?!_ ”

Spike flinched. “Oi! Keep it bloody down, would you!”

“How long?” Buffy whispered harshly, staring at him with disbelief.

Spike shifted, glancing down at his boots. “About the same time as when you were knocked down.”

Buffy’s brows furrowed, thinking. None of it added up. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Knowing you, you’d be the first in line to be shouting and blaming me for this.” A thought occurred to her that had her instantly livid. “Did you do this?”

Spike gave her a dry look. “Right. I snatched everyone’s powers in the two seconds it took to jump from the crypt to the ground.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Buffy paused. “Wait. ‘Everyone’?”

Spike frowned. “Well yeah. Those two blokes weren’t vampires anymore. Didn’t you notice?”

Something  _had_ been off. She knew it wasn’t just the disappearance of her strength. Slowly, the pieces came together in her mind. “Not vampires anymore?” To her surprise, Spike stared back at her mutinously. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. You’re not saying—you can’t be saying—”

Spike rolled his eyes heavily and growled, and with whiplash speed he snatched her arm and wrapped her hand around his other wrist. Warm skin met warm skin. Buffy’s eyes went comically wide and she looked up at Spike.

“Oh my god.” Buffy stared at their joined hands, blood thundering in her ears. Slowly, she moved her hand to press two fingers to the side of his wrist.

A strong pulse met her touch.

She stared at Spike, who had never looked more anxious and terrified than he did now—a flush had come over his face. Pale skin was now heated up with color. Unconcerned with how it looked, Buffy reached up to press her hand to Spike’s cheek.

Warm. Damningly warm. “You’re human,” Buffy murmured, disbelief lingering in her tone.

She understood then what had been off about Spike; the moment he’d realized he was no longer a vampire he’d gone into shock. For it wasn’t as simple as his powers vanishing—his heart was beating. Blood was pumping in his body. Spike was  _alive_.

Buffy dropped her hand and stepped back, no longer meeting his eyes. “We should get inside.”

Spike lifted a brow but said nothing as he followed Buffy inside her house.

**-:-**

Willow and Tara showed up at Buffy’s front door with a massive amount of books in their arms. Xander and Anya stood behind them with their own stacks.

“Buffy, you won’t believe this,” Xander started as he dumped his pile of books onto the floor.

“My magic’s gone!” Willow cried. She hefted the books in her arms and showed them to Buffy. “Just look at this. I’m gonna cry.”

Buffy glanced down at the books and frowned. “Your  _Harry Potter_  collection?”

“All of our spell books turned into fiction novels,” Tara supplied, carefully setting down her stack of books in the coffee table. “Even the books we use to research stuff.”

“Giles is going to burst a vein when he finds out his library is now hundreds of copies of  _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” Xander yawned, rubbing his eye. “Not to mention everyone outside is freaking out. I wouldn’t have noticed if our neighbors hadn’t set a fire in their backyard.”

“Why would your neighbors care?” Willow asked.

“’Cause they’re likely not human, now are they?” Spike drifted into the living room, holding a giant tub of mint chocolate ice cream. He proceeded to cram a massive spoonful into his mouth, his eyes rolling back at the flavor. “ _God_. I’ve missed tasting sweets.”

“Spike, you can’t just eat straight from the tub!” Buffy crossed over and snatched the container from his hands and ignored his pitiful whine.

“’Ave shom mershy, Shlayer,” Spike mumbled, swallowing thickly. “All of this is bright an’ shiny an’ new for me. You got any buffalo wings?”

“And why is Count Chocula here?” Xander pointed out, folding his arms over his chest.

Willow was the first to get it. She gasped loudly, pointing. “No.”

Spike grinned.

“He’s human?” Tara said in surprise. “I—I can’t see auras right now b-but, then, does that mean…”

“That all of Sunnyhell’s turned human?” Spike tilted his head with a smile. “Got it in one.”

“No way. No way,” Xander repeated. He walked up to Spike and squinted at him. “I don’t believe it. I mean for all we know he’s lying.”

Spike grinned slowly. “Well, no better way to demonstrate than the present.” Spike thumped Xander hard on the back of his head that sent Xander howling in pain, while Spike merely stood there with a satisfied look.

“The chip doesn’t work?” Willow worried her bottom lip.

“Not right now it won’t. Maybe because I’m human; maybe because of whatever spell’s been cast that’s scrambled up the way it works. Either way, I’m a free man.” Spike shrugged. “Relatively.”

“Spike! He’s going to start killing again!” Xander rubbed the back of his head while backing away towards Anya, who was staring at her nails, bored.

“He’s not going to start killing,” Buffy said calmly. She sent a hard glare to Spike. “Right?”

“Please. Not like I’ve a demon in me rattling on to get in a spot of violence. I’m human now,” Spike licked his lips and leaned against the wall, tucking his thumbs through his belt loops. “All I want is food. Maybe a fuck. Huh,” Spike smiled in afterthought, “not much different than before, then.”

“So it’s true? You’re really…your demon is gone and everything?” Tara shook her head, wondering aloud, “That must feel strange.”

For once the cocky look slipped, and something vulnerable briefly flickered over Spike’s face. His throat bobbed and Spike’s jaw ticked. “I’m hardly weeping over it, pet.”

“Guys, focus. We need to figure out what’s going on,” Buffy urged, pressing a hand to her throat in worry. “My powers are gone. I’m one hundred percent defenseless now.”

“Hey, just a thought here—is that really a bad thing?” Xander asked, raising a hand.

Buffy blinked in surprise at him. “What?”

Xander shrugged, shoving his hands in his jeans. “I’m just saying. If the Hellmouth really has gone all human, why panic? We’re all on the same playing field now. Even if something bad happens it’s up to law enforcement.”

He had a point. But the nagging panic wouldn’t leave her mind. Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, Xander. At the very least we need to know who or what did this.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Everyone turned to Anya, who had spoken for the first time since arriving. She frowned deeply. “What? You really can’t tell?”

“Tell what?” Buffy asked.

Anya shrugged. “That a vengeance demon did this.”

**-:-**

Dylan Matthews awoke that morning with bright sunshine pouring through his window and the smell of bacon cooking downstairs.

He still had to wear four cross pendants before heading to school, but noticed several things:

The gym teacher never showed.

His flute instructor never showed either.

On his walk home, a lot of adults were crying. A lot.

Some kids, too.

Several of them were angry as well. If he squinted across the street he could see several things had been set on fire and a lot of angry shouting could be heard, so Dylan walked a little faster on his way home.

His parents wouldn’t let him outside for fear of what was happening, word of riots on the streets worrying them, so Dylan was stuck indoors and bored out. Of. His. Mind.

In the end, it was no better or worse than any other day.

In the early evening his mother agreed to let him out in the backyard for a bit. Mr. O’Rourke wasn’t in the neighboring yard but his dog was. Dylan actually gasped.

“A Border Collie!” Dylan said excitedly. The sliding door to the neighbor’s yard opened and out came Mr. O’Rourke, looking slightly disheveled with red-rimmed eyes. Dylan asked, “When did you get a Border Collie, sir?”

He gave Dylan a particularly pathetic sniff. “I’ve always had this dog.”

Frowning, Dylan sat on the ground and pulled out a few blades grass, watching them flutter as they fell down. A sudden prickle went down his neck and Dylan glanced up—and let out a high-pitched shriek.

“Mom! Help!”

Dylan scrambled to feet as a woman with an oddly disfigured face smiled at him. Her smile shrank when she saw him in a panic.

“Whoa, kid! I’m not gonna hurt you!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah sure, lady,” Dylan sprinted to the backdoor. “You and the rest of this town!”

“No, really!” The woman held up her hands. “I’m just here about your wish.”

Dylan couldn’t help but snort at that. “Are you gonna tell me now that you’re my fairy godmother?”

“Oh ew, no. She’s horrible and actually a bilgesnipe demon, so I’d stay far away from anyone who tries telling you that.” The woman smiled tentatively. “Yesterday—your wish. You wanted everything normal for a day, right?”

“What? No I didn’t.” Dylan stopped to think about it. “Actually, maybe I did. Oh crap. But—”

“Nope, your wish was granted. Sooo? How was it? Did you enjoy your normal day? Any wrath incurred on the people who hurt you?” The strange woman balled up her hands excitedly in anticipation.

“Uh…it was alright. Kinda the same as usual though.” Dylan frowned. “Wait, so you really, actually granted my wish?”

“Of course! You’re my first case, I’ll have you know.” The woman puffed up proudly, putting her hands on her hips. “Pretty stellar job if I say so myself. Every single living thing in this town is as normal as raisin bran.”

Dylan’s eyes widened. “Is that why everyone’s been acting weird?”

The woman nodded smugly. “Exactly how you wanted.”

“No, not how I wanted.” Dylan crossed his arms. “Today sucked.”

The woman recoiled as if slapped. “I beg your pardon? I am a  _professional_ , young man. You couldn’t have had anything except what you exactly wished for.”

“Yeah and I’m telling you it sucked, lady.”

“Demira,” she corrected.

“Demira,” Dylan sighed with a shake of his head. “I don’t know about you, but today was super lame. I mean, nothing changed! I had to stay in the house. Mom made me hide a clove of garlic in each shoe. The pendants are itchy and I only just got to come outside. Everything about today bombed.” Dylan narrowed his eyes. “Can I talk to your boss?”

Demira’s expression grew panicked. “What? N-no! You cannot speak to anyone on Arashmahaar. Why do you—why do you—why do you want to talk to him?”

“To get a refund.”

“No, please don’t!” Demira begged. “I just got this job. He’ll sack me if he finds out how horrible my first vengeance went.”

Dylan sighed deeply. “I don’t know…”

“Kid. Come on.”

“Fine. But I should get a refund anyway. In the form of another wish.”

Demira hesitated. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“It’s not allowed for one person to have two wishes?”

“I—I’m not sure,” said Demira uncertainly.

“Maybe we can ask your boss?” Dylan prodded.

“We are  _not_ talking to D’Hoffryn!” she shrieked.

“Fine!” Dylan groaned. “Then at least let me get the right wish, okay? Come  _oooon._  Please? Just a little wish. Or two. However many until we get what we want. Okay? I’ll definitely send glowing reviews for you when we’re done. Your boss’ll be  _so_ proud.”

Dylan couldn’t believe his crock demands were working. Demira nodded, resigned, and held out her hand.

“Alright, kid. What do you wish for?”

A wicked grin spread on his face. “Well, for starters…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OffYourBird helped out with names. Amidtheflowers is terrible with names, just terrible.


End file.
